


If only I could tell you (but one of these days I swear I will)

by stealthturtle



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, Percico - Freeform, letters - Freeform, well almost all of them were only mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1788592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealthturtle/pseuds/stealthturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it doesn’t make sense why I’m sitting on my bed right now, writing this thing, pouring my heart out, when I’m pretty sure I’m never going to let you read it or send this letter to you.</p><p>or - </p><p>that time when Nico disappeared to god knows where running infinite errands, and Percy's screws simply went a little loose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If only I could tell you (but one of these days I swear I will)

**Author's Note:**

> okay so _maybe_ Percy's a little OC here, but I was trying to make him sound as excitable in his letters as possible. So bear with me and yes, this is really how it was supposed to be written. (Ask Percy, not me.)

 

Dear –

Hey Ni –

Yo –

Listen Nico –

Hi can you –

How are you? –

To: Nico, From: Per –

**Nico,**

Okay, so I’m pretty bad at this whole – whole letter thing because, like. Well, dyslexia, right? It happens, I guess, and I have this whole thing planned out, but it’s just, just that Annabeth and Leo are working on something reportedly flammable just outside my cabin so if anything goes wrong I can put it out or something. It makes perfect sense if you think about it, but it’s not doing any good to my ADHD. So… welp. I don’t even know what to talk about now, except maybe, how are you? I know you’re somewhere in Las Vegas doing whatever Nico di Angelo does, but don’t miss me too much, okay?

Heh, who am I kidding. I can’t even sleep anymore.

It’s been, what – two months? Two and a half? I don’t know anymore. Not that I’ve been counting, of course, no. I actually stopped doing that after the third week since you left. Things haven’t been the same, you know? I wake up and I can’t wait to tell you about some dream I had or other and then it kind of hits me like – oh. _Oh_. You’re not here anymore, are you?

The guys try and keep me occupied and it works, it really does. Leo gets me to help down in his cabin and Jason and I spar for hours. Piper and Rachel try to engage me in a lot of small talk and what they’re doing is nice, but how do I give my input on how outdated jean skirts are? Frank reminds me of you because he plays Mythomagic with Hazel a lot and I tend to veer away from the guy. It’s a mean thing to do but… really, who can replace you?

 I’m sorry, I’m being all sappy and I sound disgusting. I think I need to punch a bunch of holes through my walls to redeem myself now. Kidding! But seriously, I miss you. A lot. And it doesn’t make sense why I’m sitting on my bed right now, writing this thing, pouring my heart out, when I’m pretty sure I’m never going to let you read it or send this letter to you. I don’t even know how. Do they have snail mail in the Underworld?

Anyway, just stay safe. And don’t be too much of a hero. (Speaking from first-hand experience, it leads to a lot of stupid things that may or may not cost you your life. I’m a prime example!) I’ll see you soon, okay? Come back in one piece.

 

Love,

 

 Percy

. . .

 

 

 

Ciao!

Did I do that right? It’s “hello” in Italian, right? So hi!!! I’m waving at you right now (i.e. at this piece of paper) but you just can’t see it. How’ve you been, Neeks? Camp has been pretty boring and we haven’t had a prophecy dished out by Rac----

Speaking of a certain oracle who just so happens to have just knocked Riptide (did you know it can actually be used as a pen? I wonder where the ink comes from) from my hand. She says hi, but you’ll never read this anyway. Where was I -? Oh right. So no new prophecies spewed out by Rachel here and everything’s mellow, which honestly is probably a bad thing. The calm before the storm, right? We’ve been getting hoards of new campers, though, which means that I have a bunch of newbs to teach and train with for the whole year round. Oops.

Oh, and remember that guy from Apollo’s cabin? Will Solace? Yeah, Annabeth just ditched Friday Movie Night because she forgot to tell me today was their anniversary. I’m left all by my lonesome here, Neeks. (Rachel doesn’t count! … she just smacked my head, the violence is appalling.) Friday Movie Night was our thing, remember? Wise Girl just took pity on me and resumed your place, but it’s different because she doesn’t like The Breakfast Club _or_ The Avengers and that’s just – that’s just _not_ acceptable. Besides, you’re a better cuddle buddy. (But don’t tell her that.)

Aaaaghhhh, where are you?? Come home soon, pretty please with blue jelly beans on top!!

Come home soon.

 

With love,

Per------y--

RACHEL, BY THE GODS!

 

 

. . .

 

 

                _Hey there di Angelo, what’s it like in New York City? I’m a thousand miles away from you, but bro tonight you look so… creepy (!!!) yes you do. Times Square can’t… scare as good as you. I swear it’s true._

                Leo says I can’t write a song to save my life and I am adamant (learned a new word, now come home and be proud of me) on making him eat his words. Hey, maybe I’ll even write a proper song for you, yeah? One catch: get your ass back here, man!

                Where are you even right now? I’m assuming you’re in Russia or some other cool place I’ll probably never set foot in doing all kinds of errands for your dad and stuff. The song doesn’t match because if you were in New York I would have already hunted you down and tied you to your cabin (or mine, I’m not picky) so you could never leave. I’ll even take note to do it under direct sunlight because shadows are your travel buddies. I don’t know what I’ll do if night time comes, though.

Anyhow, everyone misses you and Hazel’s getting cranky again. Gods, you’ll never know real agony until you’ve been on one of the receiving ends of her wrath once you break her good china. What have you done to our sweet, timid, non-vicious, New Orleans, 40’s girl? I know you’ve done something to corrupt her, I just _know_ , di Angelo.

Just kidding.

You would never do that. Actually, it’s more likely _we_ corrupted _her_. Don’t murder me. Okay I’ll give you a deal: you come back, _and then_ you can murder me. Sound good? Ugh. See what lengths go through to see you?

Are you even going to come home?

 

Remaining hopeful,

Percy

 

 

. . .

 

 

Hey there Nico. Today wasn’t the best of days, and it’s only worse because I have no one to talk to. Of course I’m sure Annabeth or Grover would be willing to stay up to listen to me whine and cry all night but – but they’re not, I don’t know, you? They don’t understand me like you do, and I see it. I see how Annabeth _tries_ to get me to open up and talk to her, and I see how Grover gets frustrated and I do want to trust them, I honestly do but… I think it wouldn’t’ve been fair to them both, you know?  I can’t keep dropping my problems on them. It’s not their load to bear.

I need you now, Neeks. Now more than ever (or at least, more than these past four months). I don’t mean to sound so weak, you know how I hate it when you see me like this. But I just – I don’t…

I’m a wreck.

That’s it. I’m not a hero, not a leader, not someone anyone should aspire to be; I’m all – all wounded and stuff and the problem is I’m _not supposed to be._ I can’t be any of those anymore, and I can’t _stand_ being seen as the guy who saved the world twice over or some hero straight out of the legends, I just _can’t._

Because how- how can I be that when I can’t barely hold myself up anymore? I keep coming back to Tartarus, and I remember when we got you back _, gods_ , when we got you back… you looked dead then, Nico. Your eyes were empty and I was scared, so, so, _so_ scared that we got you back, but we didn’t really _get you back._ Didn’t save you. That we let some piece of you, some important puzzle piece that belonged to you alone, be left down there. Irretrievably a lost cause.

I feel like that right now. A lost cause.

Where are you? Please come back. The walls are closing in again and I can’t breathe properly---.  Oh wow, my hands are shaking. _Gods_ , my whole body is trembling. The desk lamp is on but the cabin lights are off. It’s probably 11 PM right now and I can’t go out or anything since it’s past curfew and the harpies are prowling the camp grounds, but really, I think I can’t go out because I feel paralyzed. Moving hurts, breathing hurts, smiling, pretending hurts. I see the fountain glowing, and I see Tyson’s bed. I’ve never felt more alone.

I didn’t always used to be like this, you know? I mean, my life was plenty messed up before, all demigods’ lives are, but then there’re people like _me._ And I’m just – I have absolutely no idea what to do right now. I think I’m having an anxiety attack but the tears aren’t coming. I’m shaking like a leaf and my mind is just all over the place and I’m thinking that I just really, really, really, _really_ need you right now. You have no idea what life without seeing you has been, and I still wait outside your cabin just in case you pop in for a second. We all feel your absence.

Why won’t you at least give us an Iris message? Or even a sign that you’re still alive? Hazel’s worried because she can’t pick up on you anymore. Are you purposefully shutting her out, Nico? Are you shutting me out? I have all these questions and all these things I’ve wanted to ask you, to tell you, but I can’t because you’re somewhere in the globe, and the breadth of our distance spans from north to south. I’m feeling a deep ache in my chest now, like a punch to the sternum. Or a stolen heart with my chest cut open raw.

The clock is ticking and I’m hearing a ringing in my ear and it’s getting painfully loud and my head hurts real bad. I do—n’t think--- I can write any—more. Come bac-k

I- lo---

-P.

 

 

. . .

 

 

Ayeee, Nickeroo!! What is up?!

The guys and I are out for the night and it’s Jason’s birthday and we’re drinking to his 18th! At least it’s legal in Puerto Rico, and that’s why we’re in San Juan now. Alright Puerto Ricans!!!

I feel fuzzy. Are you in South America? It would be soooo cool if you were, though! And then we’d _all_ be celebrating Jay’s day of brith! … did I speel that right? Spell, I mean. Ugh, pens are stupid. I just asked Frank what’s the spelling of birth and it is that. See what I did? Everything’s just kind of funny right now, I don’t even know why hahaha.

Soooo, what part of the continent are you in right now?? You good?? Hope you’re still alive, mate; who else would remind me to wear some pants before going out? Or, like, force me to brush my teeth because I ain’t doing that if you hadn’t shoved my toothbrush inside my mouth all this time. Blue toothpaste, though. Oh, get me that imported blueberry-falvoured, crap, _flavoured_ toothpaste when you get back, yeah? I _love_ it. I love a lot of things!!!

Ohmygods, Leo’s on the keg stand right now, Dionysus is going to freak when he finds out we’re having a party like this. Chiron’ll have our heads! Worth it, though. Jay looks like he’s having the time of his life and he almost made out with Leo, haha. Now _that_ would be a show.

I have no idea why I’m doing (writing) this while sipping tequila (it’s dyed blue!!!!) but it’s whatever. You should’ve been here, Neeks, you would’ve had _such_ a blast!

Whoop-dee-doo Leo just got this waitress’ number hahaha! Ooh, I looove this blueberry cheese cake they’re serving. I would offer you some but yOU’RE NOT HERE. I keep turning around expecting to see your mop of black hair but nope, nope, nope! Weyhey, I love this song they’re playing! It’s , uh… it’s Spanish Lullaby?? I’m not even sure, I’m just assuming that because those are the only words in English they keep repeating, but whatever, it’s amazing. Aaaand I love the way alcohol makes you feel; I love the air around here, even if it smells like booze.

I love Puerto Rico and everyone in here because they’re awesome (but I’m awesome- _er_ ); I love the little shot glasses all lined up at our table; I love the color-changing drink here, but they taste kind of the same. Alcohol tastes the same after a while but I love that, too. What else? I looovee… the stars in the sky, because they remind me of Zoe and she reminds me of Thalia and Thalia reminds me of Bianca and Bianca reminds me of you aaand, oh right! I love _you_.

Ha! I gotta go now, Leo just fell off a stool and made a major mess of things. Gotta take care of this one.

(Thank the gods that you’ll never see this.)

(‘Cause it’ll totally be embarrassing.)

(But what the heck.)

(Iloveyou)

(-Percy)

 

 

. . .

 

Morning, Neeks! Or night, depends on where you are right now. It’s 6 in the morning here right now and everything’s very quiet. Although, I can hear the birds chirping outside and the naiads splashing about. I’m writing this early because I kindofsortof dreamt about you. (Again, actually. But I’m not keeping count anymore.)

You showed up in my cabin and you looked healthy, like olive-skin-no-eye-bags-healthy. You only said two words and they were “I’m home” and you were smiling real bright at me and it’s – it’s easily the best dream I’ve had in a long while. Excluding that one with the chicken nuggets, but that’s another story I won’t be writing down here.

How’s living a jet-setter life treating you? But, well, you know, without the jet part. I pray to the gods to keep you safe because I know as good as any that you’re facing some weird-ass shit 24/7. Well, I hope you’re enjoying yourself, at least. When you _actually_ come back, can you take me to Venice? I’ve wanted to try legit Italian pizza for a _real_ long time now; I bet you’ve tasted them!

Thoughts about food aside, I just really hope you’ll be back soon. I’m still waiting, every day. I know this sounds stupid but I’m kind of, I don’t know, scared? Of forgetting (you), that is. Not forgetting you as a whole, per se. But the little things I’ve discovered about you. Like how your left eye twitches when I’ve done something wrong, never your right. Or how your laugh sounds when you’re not being polite or faking it. How only one side of your lips quirk up when someone tells a bad joke, or the sun crinkles in your otherwise sunken eyes.  I find myself constantly reminding myself about these things: the color of your eyes or that one particular prominent vein that runs down your forearm. They make up you, after all. And I like you. (Not necessarily in a romantic way, could be platonic but you know, I just do.)

I’m probably going insane since talking to yourself (well technically I’m talking to you, but at the same time not because you’ll never read this) is a sign of insanity. Annabeth’s kind of worried, but I’m fine, really. No big deal. Just pining over a guy who’s MIA most of the time. Juuust peachy.

Piper knows, though; daughter of Love and all. About how I, uh, _feel_ about you. She says it’s unhealthy, chasing someone who doesn’t want to be chased. She constantly tells me to just move on or something and see other people. I did try once, twice, a few times. Flirted with girls and boys, but it didn’t _feel_ right. And I guess it’s because, because you’re all I’ve ever known, you know? I don’t know how to function in a zone without you because nearly my whole demigod life has spun around your axis (and Annabeth and Grover’s, but that’s a whole other matter). Maybe it’s unhealthy, really. Maybe I _should_ consider other people, consider a life outside of you. I can probably see you as a bad habit, a drug. But like all those addicted, that doesn’t mean I’ll quit.

I’ve probably already said this a thousand times but I miss you. 12.5 hours ago, the smartest girl in camp told me you can never love a person as much as you can miss them, and I’m starting to think that it’s true. I remember that time we went out because I told you I had something to show you down at the beach and it was sort of raining, so you got a little angry but I made it up to you by telling the rain to roll off you. (Like a water lily effect!) The moon hit you and that was the time, I think, when I started thinking about you more than I should. When I started really taking _notice_ of you. And from then I guess everything just kind of stemmed. It was like seeing you for the first time ever and at first it was a little baffling, but then I see the way you kiss Hazel’s cheek before saying goodbye, and the way you look after Cerberus and Mrs. O’Leary like they were your own, and then I figured: this wasn’t such a bad idea.

Ha, early morning musings. Sorry. But, yeah, that’s it, I guess. Ugh, I really have to get out of bed soon, my first class starts at what – 8:00? Jason’s my co-lecturer and he’ll probably throw a fit if I’m late _again_. When you get back, have a go at the new ones, yeah? I think it’ll be fun, just don’t, you know, impale anyone because that would be very, very bad indeed.

Crap, I think that’s Jay outside the door. Got to go, bye!

-P

 

. . .

 

We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy new year!

Hey there Neeks! It’s Christmas Eve here and everyone’s doing last-minute decorations and shopping and all those crap necessary for the yuletide. And like Leo said, little to none of the campers are like, religious but we’re guessing that everyone sees it as an American holiday, so you go ‘Murica!

Oh! I got you something so when you come home I could give it to you. I’m not saying though, because it’s a surprise! I had to give the Stoll’s about fifty drachma’s to get a hold of this thing, so you better feel special. I kid, haha. I got Annabeth this book about architecture with my wages from this new family restaurant I’m working at that I didn’t bother to check out and have no plans to because, seriously: me + books? Laughable. I bought Grover new reed pipes, but I think his are magical or something but anyway it’s the thought that counts, right? Right!

So we’re all a little busy warding off elf-looking feral goblins (monsters, Christmas edition) and hanging fairy lights. Gotta say, I have to watch out for mistletoe. Earlier, I almost got trapped under it with Clarisse and both she and I would have rather chewed our arms off. It’s a good thing Will Solace pounced on me before I could cover that .09 cm of distance that entered the mistlezone.

Anyways, Christmas is weird this year. Like, I can’t feel the spirit of it. Not like when I was a kid and Christmas was the biggest highlight of my whole year. And since I can’t figure out why my well-deserved year highlight isn’t so much of a highlight now, I’m just going to go ahead and blame it on you because you’re not here. They’re blasting some random Christmas album on Chiron’s old-ass player the Hecate cabin magicked (so now we have a surround-sound eight-inch wide stereo, go figure) and it’s playing _Merry Christmas, Darling_ right now and I just – wow _._ I’ll be honest here, I freaking feel like an Aphrodite camper after a bad break-up right now, excuse me if I’m putting a damper on everyone’s Christmas moods by not coming out of my cabin for a whole day.

Neeks, you don’t understand; you’ve been gone for almost _eight months_ and I’m starting to doubt if you’re going to come back at all. You know, it just feels so shitty – _just_ _so shitty_ having to wait and wait for someone who hasn’t even given you any sort of sign if they’re either okay or still alive and having to worry _every single god damned day_ and having to live with that anxiety and feeling insignificant enough to be ignored by the one person you want to see or talk to again so much and you’re just – just... you’re probably celebrating Christmas in some exotic place or other having a blast, partying, sight-seeing, and the god knows what else. You’re probably out South chasing down monsters and eating at some fancy five-star restaurant just because you can. I’m just assuming here, really, but being away from camp (which you seem to somehow feel a little resentment at) and from, well, me (who I’m pretty sure you _do_ resent), does it make you happy? I mean, I’ve spent hours on end wishing and hoping and praying for your return when maybe, you don’t actually want to go back.

So let me just ask you one question: do you think about us as often as we think about you? Or on a more critical, self-indulgent note, do you think about _me_ as much as I think about you? I know I’m not exactly your favourite person, but still. A guy can have a little hope, right? I’d like to believe that we’re close friends. I mean, we used to hang out a lot and I’ve gone through lengths to spend time with you when you’re not busy and for a few measly minutes or – if I’m lucky – hours, things seem _perfect_ because in those times you don’t seem to hate me. But after? I don’t even know. You can’t seem to look me in the eye and you can be terse at times, so sometimes I ask myself: where did I go wrong? In which part of our relationship did I screw up or fail and then it just slams into me like a wall like – oh yeah. Bianca.

I know that you haven’t really forgiven me, and I don’t expect you to but it’s… it’s just really difficult to sort this out because I have no idea how to even start apologizing or how I can make things any better and I know that I’m at fault, and I know I’m responsible for it, but the thing is: I don’t know how to deal with the guilt or the heft of the situation and I feel – I feel helpless. And I’m endlessly sorry. If Christmas wishes have anything to go by, I’d like to rewind and do right this time.

Oh wow, ha. That was, that was unnervingly profound; personally, I had no idea I had it in me to write those down, Christ on a Harley. I would say this is awkward right now, but it’s an unshared kind of ill at ease since you have no idea what I’m going on about (thank the gods, though). But yeah, here you go, have a love song to sum up this whole casual-turned-very-angsty-letter in a few words. It’s the same song that’s been playing quite a while around camp now to the point that I’m pretty sure it’s mocking. Merry Christmas, _darling_. And wherever you are, I hope you’re okay.

 

 _That I wish you Merry Christmas_  
Happy New Year, too  
I’ve just one wish  
On this Christmas Eve  
I wish I were with you

 

. . .

 

International Day of Love and Corporate Scams and the only person aside from the lovely Sally Jackson-Blofis I plan on showering with overpriced plastic tulips, fabric roses, cheap chocolates and candy hearts is hacking away monsters and retrieving magical items in China. I find comfort in thinking that roses and chocolates aren’t really your thing, anyway,  and that if I ever showed up on your doorstep with a bouquet of Febreze-sprayed paper flowers you’d punch me in the gut and slam the door on my face, so yeah I think I’m okay with it.

Exciting news, though! Mom’s already starting her ninth term and I’m getting a mystery sibling. She and Paul want the gender to be a surprise but everyone’s dying to know if it’s a she or a he (we’ve taken to calling it an ‘it’, oh the eternal struggle of pronoun ambiguity). Any week now she might just deliver and we’re all on our toes; man you better show up when my baby something pops out! Or else I’ll forever brainwash it into eating uncle Nico’s hair, you have been warned.

Also, I got lost in the dark part of YouTube yesterday on Annabeth’s laptop and I don’t know how the Stoll’s do it, I really don’t, Christ. They spend evenings watching a mix of Slender Man reaction videos and maggots growing on a dead pig’s carcass on the camp’s one monster-proof laptop – aside from Annabeth/Daedalus’s, of course – (when the Athena and Hephaestus cabin put their minds together, I wouldn’t be surprised if they could build a jaeger), how you deal with these two, Neeks, I do not know. Speaking of the Stoll’s, they miss you lots. I’m thinking they’re person-sick because when I went out to the beach I saw the two trudging back to camp and Connor was either doing drugs or crying, two guesses which. And that was when I saw your name written on the sand. I don’t know, man. They’re even worse than Jason and he’s, like, your best friend. (Said best friend is also brooding, I hope you feel guilty with this influx of information, you little shit.)

Ah, well that’s about it for my day, how was yours?

 

Yours (truly),

Percy

 

. . .

 

Oh gods, I’m – I am sitting outside the E.R., and – and my mom she’s ---- shit, sorry. Her water broke in the middle of the annual Jackson-Blofis dinner party so everyone was freaking out, _everyone,_ even Paul’s sister’s ten-year-old daughter was screaming at her hysteric mom and completely shell-shocked brother to call 911, and it could’ve been real funny, but at the time I had a mother who was currently giving birth (and still is as we speak – or write) and nothing’s funny when you have a very violent, very pregnant woman shouting all over the place.

So I’m practically shaking right now and this is basically one of the most efficient sources of comfort for me, it’s probably since I’ve grown so accustomed to it or whatever. Everyone’s here and we’re all holding our breaths so hard we’re turning blue in the face, ohgodsohgods. I hope she’s okay – was that a shriek?! I have absolutely _no idea_ how to handle this, fucking hell.

 

. . .

 

She’s still in labor and everyone else is asleep, only Paul and I are wide awake. I can’t even bring myself to close my eyes for long.

 

 . . .

 

Hour nine.  I’m nervous as shit.

 

. . .

 

It’s 7 in the morning, Paul’s on the phone with his mom, and I want a blue chocolate chip cookie badly. (Unfortunately blue-cuisine professional Chef Sally J. is giving birth to my new sister/brother, so that idea’s gone to Hades.)

 

. . .

 

It’s a girl.

P.S.

!!!!!!!!

 

. . .

 

Paige Andromeda Jackson-Blofis, weighing 8lb., born on the vernal equinox. Now let’s go watch the gods turn that into a freaking deadline, smh. (I learned internet slang, I either deserve a pat on the back or a good whack to the head.) _Any_ way, can you believe it?! I have a baby sister! Gah, now I have to play the role of the doting, overprotective older brother, just because I can.

Kidding, I’m not gonna be that one evil sibling. Although I can’t see why protecting my baby girl from the big bad world is such an awful thing (or so Annabeth says). Eh, they do say that exposure helps grant immunity.

Everyone’s currently debating whether she looks more like Paul or Mom, but right now, with her still bundled up in hospital blankets, all pink and… squishy looking, she looks like, well, she looks like a burrito. Zeus on a bike, I have a baby burrito sister. Nana Julie (Paul’s mom), bless her fiery heart, sides with me. But burrito’s are cool, man. Real cool.

 

. . .

 

Paige is four weeks old and looks extremely breakable (she resembles a very adorable potato now) and I am afraid to touch her, still. Doesn’t mean I haven’t taken the liberty out of baby-proofing the whole apartment before Paul and mom come home from the hospital. I might just volunteer to babysit her after she turns, like, twelve months old. Or maybe when she can finally hold her head up by herself. Emphasis on the ‘might’.

See, if you were here you would have been on baby-patrol 24/7, doing everything a proper big brother should do – everything _I_ should do – flawlessly. When you get back, as a punishment I will be finally handing over the plane ticket to France Aphrodite casually gave to me last month to mom and Paul. (She said it would come in handy soon. I think she meant this kind of handy.) And _then_ , I am going to tell them that Unky Neeks would be more than happy to watch over their offspring for the full week they’re there and you shall be facing the repercussions of your actions, missing out on us and all. Ha. I came up with that evil plan while I was sticking the foam ridges on the dining table, I think it’s pure genius. I simply cannot wait for you to come back, purely for the fun that I would most certainly glean from this plan. Purely.

With my pants on fire,

Percy

 

. . .

Dearest shit-head,

So I’ve never really written a love letter before (too busy slaying creatures of Tartarus, I guess) and I’ve never really considered doing so in my whole life but hey, as the Americans have so eloquently put it, shit happens.

And that is why I am finding myself on a crappy Saturday night writing you one.

How do I even begin to write this thing anyways? Just so you know (which you won’t and you never will), this wasn’t my idea. Piper put me up to this. It’s all her doing, planting seeds of what-the-effery in my mind. Honestly. But she said writing this – whatever this is, was a good idea to channel all my pent-up feelings and frustrations towards you and, well, towards life in general. I told her, though, that I have been doing that, I _have_ been writing letters to a ghost who doesn’t want to be chased and she just _looks_ at me. Like – like there’s something wrong with me, honestly, how could anything be possibly wrong with my demigod life?

Perhaps everything, but that is neither here nor there; what is, however, is that the purpose of this letter – the whole nub and gist of it – is that I finally come clean to you. I am cracking my knuckles and flexing my back right now, you just can’t see it. Okay. Right, here we go:

 

.

I spent five minutes on that dot. Nope, sorry no can do, I cannot spend an entire hour (Pipes gave me a time-limit, seriously!) writing down how I feel about you, but in my defense I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned it in previous letters, but I just – _no_. I refuse to be the poster boy for sad depressive kid in love with someone the object of their affection themselves find unlovable. Next thing you know I’ll be releasing my own clothing line and a certain brand of perfume – _Le Sans Espoir._ Well no, that sounds a bit taking it too far (although I have no doubt Piper would have wanted to be my manager). I’m rambling, sorry. I’m unreasonably nervous, _why_ am I nervous? See you would know, I remember asking you all sorts of questions about Biology and some crap about the nervous system that one time Annabeth made me her study buddy and you were quite frankly Google on legs and black skinny jeans. Role-reversal works in funny ways. I think I kind of got in touch with my inner 10-year-old-Nico then. What was I going on about again?

Well Hades, this certainly isn’t a love letter. I am suddenly bothered by my lack of capability of writing one. It’s three in the morning, probably why I’m feeling a bit like Georgia Nicolson. The camp has recently stared hosting a Reading Theater every Friday and Piper’s younger siblings love the series. (Which a lot of us found not vair vair _amusante_.)

Rambling again, I should stop before I say something stupid (but it wouldn’t matter because I’ve been saying stupid things this whole time) like I love you.

Well shit then.

That sounded like a song, actually.

 _There._ This is as good as it’s going to get, Piper, _at least_ it had something to do with feelings. And mine are all over the place. Note to self, never attempt to write anything of supposed substance at… 3:27 in the morning. Also, no more coffee with your dinner.

Welp this was a train wreck. Sorry about that. I think this is an appropriate point to exit and get like three hours of sleep.

Lots o’ love and freeze-dried coffee,

Percy

 

. . .

 

I _hate_ getting hangovers, Christ on a Harley it feels like someone’s just burrowed an anvil deep in my noggin. I have no idea why people (and by people I mean me) drink with full knowledge of what comes after next; turns out I’m a bilingual drunk this time around, as by the end of the whole birthday celebration (Will’s) I was spewing out curses in both  Ancient Greek and, for some inane reason, German.

Yet again, Annabeth has taken your place because there is a knock on my door and a bottle of aspirin calling my name and Wise Girl has come to the rescue! You definitely make better chicken soup, though.

 

. . .

Ciao again, Neeks!

Moving on to more pressing matters, are you aware of what today is? August 18th, usually the day blue cakes are baked by Queen Sally J. (Or should I say J.B. now?) YEP! YOU GUESSED IT! It is my birthday and I have to spend it training new campers, _gods._ Speaking of gods, why can’t they just keep it in their pants, we’re getting new demigod youngin’s every week it’s not even funny anymore.

Oh look, Jay’s talking to a newbie right outside my cabin. Or at least I think they are… _di immortales,_ they look like you! Dude, you have got to meet whoever this new guy is, wait no I have to meet him first. He looks pretty tall, I can only see the guy’s back anyway. How did he survive this long without the camp? Ho hum pigs bum, as the Aphrodite cabin likes to say at times like these (or at any time, really; I must admit it is quite fun to say). Well, I guess it’s time for orientation protocol. I’m not even kidding though, this guy has a penchant for black everything, too. Hold on, maybe they’ll turn my way.

Oh my gods.

Sweet baby Jesus on a vespa.

IF THE FATES ARE SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW I WILL NOT HESITATE IN SPINNING THEIR OWN LIFE LINES AND SNIPPING TO MY HEART’S CONTENT, BUT HOLY SHIT IS THAT ACTUALLY YOU.

I HAVE TO GO -----

 

.

.

.

.

 

dearest fuck-face,

you are, quite frankly, horrible at hiding confidential paraphernalia and I have no idea why I’m going on a date with someone who thinks their sister is a burrito.

and also, I only celebrated Mardi Gras in Venice and that’s that, I swear on the Styx.

you’re an idiot.

on my way to the beach,

-N

 

 

p.s.

i loved you first.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading lovelies! Comments give me meaning to life. Leave some love and I would absolutely love to hear what you think of this baby fic! Kisses!


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